Bitch on the Blog

December 31, 2017


Filed under: Amusement,Formalities,Fortune,Joy — bitchontheblog @ 21:28
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I haven’t yet done all the quizzes newspapers bombard us with at the end of year; neither have I looked at compilations of “Best of 2017”, yet. I’ll keep that till a time when I should be doing something else. Which brings us, neatly, tidily, annoyingly, to New Year’s resolutions and how to divest ourselves from old, and form new habits.

Needless to say that I don’t make NY resolutions because I tend to avoid setting myself up for failure. I’d rather decide on February, 30th, what needs to be tweaked. Why make resolutions for the “better”? We’d all be far more successful at keeping resolutions if they appealed to the worse in us.

In which spirit I wish you a 2018 to top all 2018s – may you come out the other end as you entered it … with hope in your heart.




December 17, 2017

Dashed hope

The notion doesn’t just belong to Christmas. Though I did come across the subject in the context of it. Presents. Or should that read “expectations”?

What would you have liked to be given at any time, at any occasion, at any stage of your life – but didn’t? Worse, what were you given though you didn’t want it? Whilst you mull over both those questions so will I.


June 10, 2017


Filed under: hope,politics — bitchontheblog @ 09:45
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This is what the Angel wrote on Thursday, the eve of the election, on the social media he uses. I feel compelled to publish this here for many reasons – most of which I’ll probably best keep to myself. Please do me, or rather the Angel  the courtesy to read this properly. Yes, you too, Cro. Don’t just skim it. This is written from the heart, from reason, on the spur of the moment, unadulterated. With hope in my heart, here goes the Angel (he is twenty five):

“It’s time to vote with hope, hope for a more equal and compassionate society – not a society which marches mindlessly to the drum of austerity and uses it as an excuse for endless cuts and heartlessness affecting the most vulnerable.

I want to vote for a country which isn’t the 2nd biggest arms dealer in the world funding terrorism and war through Saudi Arabia whilst claiming to promote peace. One which confronts the corporate elite and clamps down on corporate tax evasion, protects the NHS and doesn’t push people into poverty and 1 million people to foodbanks.

The tories would have you believe that this is the best we as a country are capable of and that all of the injustice and inequality is inevitable and can’t be helped. They’ll have you believe we should go forward without hoping for better, but without hope there is nothing. I believe regardless of what happens tomorrow the momentum and awareness Corbyn has gathered will only continue to grow stronger.




May 4, 2017

All is well

This morning I woke with a sense of foreboREdom. Don’t believe a word of it.

Package it as you like. I woke with a sense of doom. I didn’t so much have a head rush (when you get up from your seat too quickly), I was positively faint with my heart racing me to death’s door. Nothing unusual in that: Healthy specimen that I am, my body has always played out my psyche to its soma. I am sure there is a reason we have a solar plexus. If only to keep us nauseous.

Anyway, as usual, my optimism was surpassed by reality three hours later. And to think I nearly cancelled the appointment because I didn’t trust my balance to make it.

Never mind. It’s not the end of the world. And I’ll live – just in case you were hoping I’d leave you alone any time soon. I won’t. I won’t see you for dust. Or, maybe, I’ll see you, myself and the rest of the world more clearly. Which would be good, a great relief and a great saver of wasted energy.

Made me think, on my way back, how hope makes you postpone the evil moment. Because, as long as you don’t hold eye contact with reality, there is always that chimera “Hope”. I know people who have wasted their whole lives waiting in hope which, essentially – and please do contradict me if you think otherwise – constitutes the con of all cons.

Onwards and upwards,


January 18, 2016

Jackson Pollock

Cheerful Monk aka Jean, a woman I respect for a number of reasons, asserted the following in her last post:

“I know some people who think life just happens, they don’t have much say in the matter. That attitude seems to work for them, but it’s against my nature to be that passive. … It’s more fun to be the painter than the paint.

If you want your story to be magnificent, begin by realizing you are the author, and every day is a new page

This last one points out how incorrigible I am, that at the age of 76, I still think I’m a creator in my life.

For me it’s a lot more fun than just being the paint.”


To which I replied in her comment box, and such is my purpose and sorrow that I vent same what I feel this moment on my own blog:

“My dear Jean, if only it were so easy. Yesterday (Sunday) evening, in a moment of misguided optimism and hope, I, the author of my life as you put it, took an initiative and “painted” and what did I end up with? A lot of paint on my face. So much paint on my face it will take a lot of resolve and tears to wash it off.

Say what you like: Sometimes we are at the mercy of others. And when we are at the mercy of someone else, you – the supposed editor of your life’s story – may take time off and go home early. Yes, I hit a brick wall. Hard.

I am devastated. Wish I could “re-write” that chapter of my life (into the future) but I can’t. Why? Because no man is an island. There are occasions, maybe few but nevertheless, where we are entirely dependent on someone else’s ability and willingness to communicate. And if that will isn’t there you may as well (metaphorically speaking) fill your coat pockets with stones and wade into water.”


January 12, 2015

Who are you?

Filed under: Art,Culture,Errors,Human condition,Nature — bitchontheblog @ 17:03
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Sometimes even I find myself caught in the firing line of contradictory advice:

“Keep digging.”

“Stop digging. The hole won’t get any smaller.”

To be on the safe side I do keep digging until my worst fear – the hole getting bigger – is confirmed.

Holes are conundrums. On one hand, by virtue of being a hole, there is nothing. Just a hole. Which is fine as long as you are not in it. If you want to be swallowed go to Dartmoor. Or somewhere where squelching mud will suck you down. And all you did was set a foot wrong. But at least you won’t leave a hole.

I like gardening. You dig a hole – on purpose. You plant a plant. Fill hole around plant with soil till hole is full – et voila. Come spring all you have to fight are squirrels, deer, cute bunnies, your cat, a neighbour’s dog (the swine),  naturally, snails and slugs – and you wonder why you ever thought gardening and its more serious cousin, farming, were a calling rather than a curse.

You know what a vocation is? When you can’t help yourself. Vocation, a calling, is usually associated with those of a true or imagined artistic bend and those who live in a monastery, defuse landmines and or do other foolish things to keep the status quo going. I tell you, and I mean it: Scrub a floor instead. At least you can eat off it and no one – not least yourself – expects you to win a noble prize.


March 4, 2014

Then, now and soon

Filed under: Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 18:26
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Am not so much rattled as baffled: The years fly by. It’s already March 2014. When will it end? I deliberately didn’t put: Where will it end? We all know the location.


If they weren’t such a joy (to me) I’d advise against having children. If you don’t have them time deludes you. If you have them, or rather I did (one fine specimen), one minute you give birth, deliriously happy delving into motherhood, the next (22 years and a half later) your son lifts you off the floor like a feather. This is crazy stuff. And I am not exaggerating. It is crazy.

Luckily he is switched on. He already realizes the sieve that time is contained in. When I was his age I didn’t. The world was my oyster. Endless. A bit like the universe. Stretching into infinity. It only recently dawned on me that maybe this is not so. Anyway, why not squander what you haven’t got. Not that I’d mention this to the Angel. He doesn’t like it when his mother isn’t connected to reality. Yes, good old reality. Am trying to make friends with it. Bit hard going.


May 4, 2010

On your own

Filed under: Despair,Happiness — bitchontheblog @ 01:17
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You are taught how to climb up a tree: Would you know how to get down again?


January 31, 2010

In the gutter

Filed under: Despair,Fortune,Happiness — bitchontheblog @ 05:18
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Just checked on what I call my Horror Scope. Do so at your peril. I don’t know what’s worse: Hopes being raised or dashed before you have so much as set a foot outside the house. Anticipation of  what the stars have in store for you being roughly on par with raised adrenaline level (which is why I don’t drink coffee).

And no, I am not talking offerings in newspapers or magazines. This is serious stuff: A reputable source going into so much detail as to heighten my potential of being reduced to a quivering wreck. My horror scope is tailored to the place and exact time of  my birth, as far as my mother can remember it.  She claims, and I tease her about the inaccuracy, that two of her children were born on the hour, two at half the hour. I bet my bottom Euro that I was at least five minutes earlier or later.  Of course, in her day,  giving birth was not an exact science. Another  horror within scope: Imagine the midwife’s watch being fast or slow. All your life you will labour under false expectations as to what will happen to you next Friday, and more importantly, who you really are in the eyes of cosmic constellations.

So let’s hope Mercury who has ability to mess things up big time will be retrograde any moment now.

May your stars twinkle on all you little specks of dust out there and may we live to see next Friday (if only to prove the forecast right).


January 17, 2010

Sitting duck

Filed under: Fortune,History,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 09:23
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Trust me on this one:


2009 was living proof to me – a rather startling year, even by my standards. At regular intervals it [the year] delivered unpleasant surprises (and that doesn’t include discovery of  the consortium). A rabbit caught in the headlights of a car had nothing on me.

Seventeen days into 2010 and I try to sit still as not to walk into the next disaster (which in itself is a disaster since I need to keep moving). And, as I AM the disaster area it’s all getting rather complicated. Annotation: It got so bad (say April) that a friend of mine started taking tranquilizers on my behalf: Did I feel guilty? Hell no, it’s MY life: If I can cope with my downfalls so can everyone else. Since I am now in the elevated circles of the humoUr brigade let me tell you what I found: When you are in a real shithole (and I mean real) people will be most unforgiving if you still see the funny side in your own misfortune: It cost me friends, no joke.

Seriously yours,


PS And no, I am not writing this from prison

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